Doghouse
by what evil lurks
Summary: Merle opens his big mouth once too often and finds out that's it's not wise to upset Carol. Spin off from Plum Crisp, but you don't have to read that to understand and enjoy Doghouse. Marol. Rated M for Dixon mouth and adult situations. (But no smut sorry!) Chapter 6 & 7 Author's notes contain spoilers for 3.15.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a spin-off, or companion piece if you will, to my other Marol story, Plum Crisp. It can be read as a stand alone story but Plum Crisp will give you the lead-in as to how Merle and Carol came to be "bumping uglies". Rated M for Dixon mouth and allusions to sex. No smut sorry, you'll have to go to Plum Crisp for that!**

**Obviously I don't own The Walking Dead blah blah blah. **

**DAY ONE**

"Jesus no wonder your husband beat you!" As soon as the words were out of Merle's mouth he regretted them. The stricken look on Carol's face only made things worse. But they were in the thick of an argument, his dander was up and he wasn't about to resile from what he'd said.

Carol went swiftly from shock to anger, her jaw firming and her blue eyes flashing. She straightened her back and squared up to him. Had to give the woman some credit for that. He knew he was an intimidating asshole, hell he used that as one of his tricks to get things done. There weren't many folk that had the guts to stand up to him, let alone a woman who'd been used to getting knocked around by a guy who'd been around his size, although not in as good shape, even if he did say so himself.

"You do not get to talk to me like that. You do NOT disrespect me like that," she laid down the law angrily but firmly. But Merle was too pissed off his own self to be willing to kowtow to her like a twelve year old getting told-off for calling his mother a bitch. Her trying to tell him what to do just inflamed him further. He ignored the little voice in the back of his head (it sounded a lot like Daryl) telling him not to be such a jerk, and that other little voice that sounded a lot like himself, warning him he was going to regret this, to just walk away. The rage overcame him, he opened his mouth and out tumbled the nastiness.

"Woman I'll talk to you any way I damn well please. Ain't nuthin you can do about it."

Carol's mouth opened in shock. She stood for a moment in stunned surprise, then closed her mouth swiftly. When she took a step closer to him, he was surprised at the urge that came over him to step back. But he stood his ground and stared down at her, jaw thrust forward pugnaciously; Dixons didn't back down. Specially not to a jumped-up piece of ass that was trying to boss him around.

"Is that what you think?" Carol hissed softly. Her eyes ran over him in an assessing manner that he didn't like one bit, and she shook her head and snorted softly. "_Is – that – what – you – think_?" Her lips curled a little in distaste. Merle could tell she was thinking real fast, and then she nodded her head once or twice. "Right. Riiiight."

Swiftly she turned on her heel and walked away.

Merle stared after her in surprise. There'd been nothing yielding or retreating about that walk-off, and he wasn't ready to quit rowing yet. He still had plenty of bile to spill. But he wasn't about to go running after some piece of skirt.

"Woman you get back here!" he shouted to her back.

Carol kept on moving away, fast and calm, and her arm came up to flip him the bird.

Once she'd turned the corner and was out of sight, he said, "Well, HELL, **BITCH!**" and kicked the wall a few times, grunting and growling as he did so. It didn't do much to relieve his tension, but the anger slowly subsided.

He had a feeling he was gonna regret this.

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At dinner that night Merle had his first indication of how things were going to be; just what Carol could "do about it".

It was the norm for Carol to dish up the meat and hand the plates down person to person. Then, unless it was one of the times when food was scarce, everyone would help themselves to the remaining fare set out on the table.

Daryl was at one end of the table, and his plate was passed down via Carl and Merle. When Carol handed the next plate to Carl to pass down, Carl initially went to hand it on, then paused and asked, "Is this for Merle?"

"Yes, of course," Carol nodded towards Merle, busying herself with another plate, "he's next."

Carl looked a little uncertain, and hesitated, not passing on the plate as instructed. "Umm… you forgot to cut his meat up." Carl didn't like to draw attention to Merle's inability to do that himself, but usually Carol had the plate with the meat already diced, to accommodate Merle's lack of a right hand.

"No, I didn't forget," Carol said mildly, and held out Carl's own plate to him. He had little choice but to pass on the plate to Merle and take his own, slices of venison piled high.

Merle didn't look at Carol as he took the plate from Carl, and placed it in front of him. He picked up his fork in a backhanded fist and stabbed it firmly, pointedly, into the top slice of meat, then lifted it to his mouth and started chewing off part of the slice. He was aware the tips of his ears were turning pink. He knew Daryl hadn't missed the exchange, and Officer Friendly had shot a close look at Carol with those goddam all-seeing blue eyes, then a look at him, and then silently, with an odd small smile, had started serving up the vegetables.

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**To be continued…**

**I'd love it if you left me a review.**


	2. DAY TWO

**This is a spin-off, or companion piece if you will, to my other Marol story, Plum Crisp. It can be read as a stand alone story but Plum Crisp will give you the lead-in as to how Merle and Carol came to be "bumping uglies". Rated T for Dixon mouth. No smut sorry, you'll have to go to Plum Crisp for that!**

**Obviously I don't own The Walking Dead blah blah blah. **

**DAY TWO**

The next day was laundry day. Really, every day was laundry day, as their clothes needed regular washing due to walker splatter, but once a week Carol stripped all the beds in the place and washed the sheets. There were plenty of spares in the prison, but if the weather was fine, she would dry the sheets in the sun and put them straight back on the bunks. Merle liked the fresh smell of the sundried linen.

He was accustomed to dropping his dirty clothes in a corner, and coming in at night to find them washed, and if need be, mended, then folded and stacked neatly at the foot of his bunk. Carol had been taking care of Daryl's laundry for months, and when Merle joined them, she extended the service to him. But tonight when he came into his cell, there was an underlying reek in the air; his dirty clothes from yesterday still lay in the corner, stinky socks on the top of the pile.

As he'd passed the other cells he'd enjoyed the sunshiny smell of their clean sheets. There were few enough pleasures in this life, you had to take enjoyment in what small delights you could find. But in his cell, the sheets were still as he'd left them this morning, flung back and rumpled. He usually left his bed made up neatly each morning, a legacy of his army days, but there was no point in doing that on laundry day.

Alright. So that's the way it was gonna be. Well hell, he'd been doing his own laundry for years, whenever Ma couldn't be bothered getting out of bed, and if he hadn't learned then, his time in the military would have sorted out that lack. Uniforms had to be spick and span. He could still iron better than most bitches. A little laundry issue wasn't gonna make him crumble into a weeping mess.

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That night at dinner Carol repeated the meat trick. This time Carl said nothing and just passed the plate down. For vegetables there were potatoes, carrots and okra. Merle loathed okra. He had a sneaking suspicion Carol knew that. He ate it anyway. _Man's gotta keep up his vitamin C if he wants to keep his teeth into old age. Healthy gums, healthy teeth_.

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After dinner Merle went up to the watch tower to relieve Glenn. He'd been there only a few minutes before Daryl appeared with his crossbow slung along his back, as ever. Daryl had a map in hand, and wanted to discuss the lay of the land around the prison: the best areas for game, spots known to be walker red zones, and the most suitable places to lay ambushes for potential enemies.

They'd been talking and pencilling the maps for about twenty minutes, alternating with doing the standard visual checks required of the watch, when they heard someone climbing the stairs. It was Carol, both hands around a steaming cup of java. With fall progressing, the days were hot and sunny, but the nights cooled rapidly, and the nip in the air made the hot drink very welcome.

Carol smiled at them both, but it was Daryl to whom she handed the coffee.

"Brought you some coffee Daryl."

"Thanks." He wrapped his fingers around the cup and blew on the hot beverage a little before taking a sip. White and sweet, just the way he liked it. Then he looked up in sudden realization. "None for Merle?"

"No," Carol replied lightly, with no further explanation than a small smile, then waved her fingers at them and made her way back downstairs. Merle scowled and turned his attention back to the map.

Daryl waited until he was sure Carol was out of earshot then said,

"The hell you done to Carol?"

"Nuthin."

"Nuthin? Carol's mostly a very forgiving woman; if she's denying you creature comforts you sure as hell musta done _something_."

"It's none of your fuckin business." Merle picked up the pencil and absently started stabbing at the map with it.

"The hell it is. You're my brother and Carol's my friend. If you've done something to piss her off it sure as shit is my business."

Merle said nothing for a long moment. But he knew Daryl was like a dog with a bone when it came to some things and wasn't going to let up, so eventually he replied.

"Just said something she didn't like, and now she's got her pantyhose in a twist about it. She'll get over it."

"You think? Guess you don't know Carol that well after all. You'd best make it right if you ever want a decent cup of coffee again." Daryl took a long slurp of his own very decent cup of joe. He knew it had to be something more serious than what Merle was describing, to make Carol behave like that.

"Hell I ain't doin nuthin. She'll come round."

Daryl snorted. "And you reckon I'm the one that's as dumb as a post when it comes to women."

Merle said nothing but shot Daryl a filthy glare, eyes narrowed to thin blue slits.

"Damn fine coffee."

"Shut the fuck up."

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**To be continued…**

**Every time you leave a review, a fanfiction writer gets their wings… or something like that, anyhoo. **


	3. DAY THREE

**DAY THREE**

It was a fine fall day in Georgia, and after the initial early morning chill had burned off, the day had warmed up rapidly, to the point that Merle and Carl were sweating as they beat the perimeter out in the hot sun. At least Carl had on that dodgy sheriff's hat to keep the sun off his head. Carol was a welcome sight, seeing as how she held a water bottle and a long tall glass of some beverage.

"You must be thirsty," she called out to them. Once within range, she tossed Merle the water bottle. Tucking it under his right armpit, he twisted the cap off with his left hand and shoved it in his pocket. He then transferred the water bottle to his good hand and chugged down several heavy swallows.

Carol had handed the glass to Carl, and he was sipping it slowly, beaming with delight and clearly savouring the pale fawn-coloured liquid.

"Watchu got there Carl?"

"Ginger beer," Carl replied with a big smile.

"Ginger beer!" Merle cried out. He cringed mentally when he heard the envious indignation in his voice. He LOVED ginger beer. It was very refreshing on a hot day, gingery and fizzy and dry, and not too sweet. The only thing better than ginger beer on a hot day, was chilled ginger beer.

It was clear Carl had caught the tone as well, when he said, reluctantly but politely,

"Umm… you could have some of mine, Merle."

"Don't put yaself out kid." If Carol wasn't going to bring Merle any ginger beer, he'd make do with water. He had no trouble with cutting off his nose to spite his face. Dixons didn't beg.

"Please don't give Merle any of yours Carl," Carol said. She paused, then explained a little, "Merle is in the doghouse. He knows what he did to get in there, and he knows what he has to do to get out. And he knows I'll be ready to hear it anytime he's ready to say it. So, Merle?" She turned to him. "Are you ready yet?"

Merle looked up at the hot sun beating down on them and drawled slowly, "Hell ain't froze over yet, sweetcheeks."

"Hmm. Alright." Carol smiled a little sadly, but apart from that did not seem too perturbed. She took the empty glass from Carl, crossed her arms in front of her then quietly turned and walked back to the prison.

Merle said nothing, just took some more pulls on the water bottle.

"So, what did you do to Carol to get her so mad at you?"

"None of ya fuckin business kid. Mind yer own."

"Suit yourself, but if I was you I'd say sorry. I sure wouldn't want Carol pissed off at_ me_."

"Shut the fuck up."

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That night at dinner the green vegetable was Brussels sprouts. If he loathed okra, Merle truly fucking hated sprouts. They had a plethora of frozen vegies due to finding a small cabin with a freezer running off a still-functioning solar array. Merle didn't know why anyone would waste perfectly good freezer space on the devil's sprouts when they could have filled it with something delicious like spinach, or swiss chard, or hell even broccoli would be an improvement.

He skipped the sprouts. His gums could take it for one night.

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**To be continued…**

**Roses are red**

**Violets are blue**

**Please be a sweetie**

**And leave a review**


	4. DAY FOUR

**This is a spin-off, or companion piece if you will, to my other Marol story, Plum Crisp. It can be read as a stand alone story but Plum Crisp will give you the lead-in as to how Merle and Carol came to be "bumping uglies". Rated T for Dixon mouth. No smut sorry, you'll have to go to Plum Crisp for that!**

**Obviously I don't own The Walking Dead blah blah blah. **

**DAY FOUR**

Merle got up early that morning to take care of his laundry. The sheets were hard to manage with only one hand, especially feeding them through the manual mangle, but he was damned if he was going to run to one of the others for help, like a pussy. Once the sheets were out on the line he made a start on his clothes.

The walker gunk was a pain in the ass to get off. He didn't know what Carol used on it, but the laundry soap he had was harsh on his skin and not very effective on the crud, blood and guts. Luckily there was an old washboard like the one GranMaw used to have, wooden riffling and all, and he was able to prop it against the wall of the tub and spend some time rubbing and slapping his clothes onto it.

He considered The Carol Situation while he worked. He thought he had her approach pretty much figured out. She'd been perfectly civil, but remote, towards him whenever they spoke. Apart from the sheets, she still did for him anything that she would have done for any other member of the group; bringing water when they were working out in the yard in the heat of the day, fixing breakfast, and so forth. It was all the little extras, the friendly touches that she extended towards those she felt a special affection for, that were gone. (He figured the whole sheet thing was just to make her point right off the bat).

He'd come to rely on some of those small things she did that deftly compensated for his lack of a hand, like cutting up his meat. She'd never made a big deal of them, just quietly gone about it so unobtrusively that he hadn't even realised how much he took it for granted, until she stopped doing them.

And of course there was no damn sex.

But hell, two could play at that game.

She'd made no secret of how much she enjoyed fucking him. Truth to tell, probably anyone'd be a step up from that damned husband of hers, but Merle knew he himself was pretty damn good between the sheets. And now that she'd had a taste, she had to be missing it.

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Merle bided his time til later that day when he knew he'd be able to come upon her alone. It had taken a little manoeuvering, but that wasn't difficult. Some of these people were ridiculously easy to manipulate. Carol was seated, busy cleaning her gun and had it disassembled across the table. He came up silently behind her and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. She jumped a little then went still. As he went to press another kiss against her soft skin, she moved away. With a look of irritation she said, "Knock it off Merle."

"Don't be like that darlin'. I've missed you."

"Hmmph. Missed my plum crisp, more like." He knew she wasn't talking about the dessert.

Carol started re-assembling her weapon. Merle tried to stifle his annoyance at her brushoff. It was never wise to piss off a woman holding a gun.

"How long are you gonna keep this up?" he asked.

"As long as it takes."

"Oh come on baby, don't tell me you ain't hungry for a little good Merle lovin'". He reached out and gently stroked one finger against that sweet spot on her neck in the way he knew she liked.

Carol pulled away again and stood up. "I thought I'd made things quite clear but maybe you didn't get the memo Merle. I don't sleep with men who disrespect me. Not anymore." She slammed the clip into the gun a little harder than was needed, tucked it into the back of her pants and stalked off.

Merle watched her fine ass as she walked out the door, and then swore softly and emphatically.

"Fuck."

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Later that evening Carol came into the main room to get something for the baby, Merle could hardly take his eyes off her ass again. She was wearing some kind of clingy pants (_leggings?)_ and while they weren't as tight as some of the pants the younger women wore, they sure showed off every curve off her ass.

Michonne had to tap the table to remind him it was his turn at cards. He picked up one from the top of the deck and made a discard but his mind wasn't on it. As Michonne took her turn Carol made her way out again, and his eyes travelled of their own volition back to her ass.

Once she was gone, he looked back at Michonne, and it seemed to him that her obsidian face held a trace of amusement. Was that a smile curving those jubed lips? He picked up a card and threw one down, he couldn't say what, and spoke to her abruptly.

"You got something to say?"

She shook her head a little, definitely smiling now, a glow in her eyes, then laid down her cards and said, "Gin."

"Shut the fuck up."

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**To be continued…**

**I would be very happy if you would leave a review. **


	5. DAY FIVE

**This is a spin-off, or companion piece if you will, to my other Marol story, Plum Crisp. It can be read as a stand alone story but Plum Crisp will give you the lead-in as to how Merle and Carol came to be "bumping uglies". Rated T for Dixon mouth. No smut sorry, you'll have to go to Plum Crisp for that!**

**Obviously I don't own The Walking Dead blah blah blah. **

D**AY FIVE**

Merle couldn't say why this thing with Carol was getting to him so much. Yeah, he liked fucking her, and he sure missed doing that. And he'd enjoyed all the little…what did Daryl call them… _creature comforts_ that came along with it. Man could get used to those real fast. And with him being crippled… nah, it was _disabled_ now… it was good to have a helping hand now and then, especially from someone that didn't make a fuss about it but just did the job.

But he'd managed without all that shit, when he was living at Woodbury, and he was sure he'd be able to get along just fine without it again. Seeing as how Carol was bound and determined to be so bloody-minded about it, sticking to her guns about making a mountain out of a molehill. Just because he'd opened his big mouth…'scuse me, _ventured an opinion_, that she didn't like. Hell this was still America wasn't it, home of the brave and land of the free, still had freedom of speech didn't they? If she was gonna get pissy about it, well screw her.

'Cept that was part of the problem, there was no screwing goin' on. And being around her and not having her was screwing _him_ up bigtime. She'd gotten under his skin somehow.

And he was getting cranky as hell and being nastier to everyone as the days went by.

He'd even snapped at that sweet thang Beth on the firing range this morning, when she'd missed the target twice in a row. He'd made her cry. Wasn't too proud of that.

If only Carol would stop being so damn unreasonable.

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Goddamned ASPARAGUS now! He knew it was supposed to be some kind of fuckin delicacy, but he'd never liked the shit, and he didn't much care for the way it made your piss smell later, either. Goddamned woman seemed to be some kinda fuckin psychic when it came to knowing what he liked and disliked to eat.

Or maybe she had someone fuckin helpin' her out. He sneaked a sideways look at Daryl who was chowing down on the fucking green spears like there was no tomorrow. That's right, he'd forgotten baby bro loved the goddam demon spawn vegetable; maybe that was why Carol had served it up. Or maybe not; he was never too sure about his little brother's fucking allegiances any more. It made life fucking uncomfortable not knowing who you could goddamn trust.

Looked like he was gonna have to forage some collard greens tomorrow and eat them raw if this shit kept up.

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Merle was in the armoury sorting through and counting their ammunition when Glenn stopped at the door and looked in. Merle looked up briefly and returned back to the ammo. Some idiot had put some of Rick's .357s in the "miscellaneous" box.

Glenn was still there and Merle sighed inwardly. Without looking up from the task at hand he said tersely, "You got something to say, kim chi, let's have it."

Glenn waited a moment before speaking, then geared himself up.

"Dude I don't trust you and I sure as hell don't like you, but I like Carol. And what affects her, affects the whole group. If you've made her miserable over something then you should nut the hell up and apologise."

"Shut the fuck up."

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**To be continued… two more chapters to go! Woo hoo!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi y'all, here it is at last, chapter six, I hope you enjoy. Thanks to everyone that reviewed and gave me ideas (even those who didn't know that you gave me ideas!), and many thanks to all those other writers who continue to write AU Merle fics. **

**Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own The Walking Dead because if I did MERLE WOULD STILL BE FUCKING ALIVE!**

**To AMC: "and the horse you rode in on." **

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**DAY SIX**

The early morning chill had not yet burned off, and Merle was struggling with dressing an armadillo when Daryl came out of the prison to join him in the yard. Merle had been on early morning watch, and had gone straight from that out to check the snares they'd set before dusk the previous day at a rabbit warren they'd found over an hour's journey from the prison. It had still been dark and he'd come across the armadillo feeding amongst some soft ground. It had been easy enough to dispatch, and there'd been two rabbits in the snares; not a bad haul.

He'd re-set the snares, and some others which had been triggered but were empty, hoping that when the bunnies came out at dawn for their morning feed, some more would stumble into the traps laid along their paths.

By the time Daryl joined him, the two rabbits were skinned and jointed, ready for Carol to soak in saltwater before cooking them up into a stew. The 'dillo was proving a little more tricky, what with the bone plates on its back and all. Daryl didn't offer to help out but Merle'd be damned if he was about to ask him to, either. They spoke briefly about the catch and the snares, and the need to hunt a long way from the prison so there'd still be game nearby in the middle of winter, but broke off when Carol appeared. She had a bottle of water in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other, and a platter under her arm.

"You missed breakfast, Merle." It wasn't quite a question. She took the cap off the water and put it down near him. The coffee went to Daryl. Of course.

"Huntin'," Merle grunted, his attention strictly on the armadillo. Yup, they were slippery little suckers. Needed all his attention.

"So I see. Rabbit?" Carol asked, pointing to the jointed pieces of game piled in a heap.

"Yup."

"Uh-huh." Carol started transferring the rabbit pieces onto the platter. "And … what the heck is that?" She pointed to the armadillo.

"Armadillo."

"Oh! O-kay… Are they… good to eat?"

"Hell yeah." Daryl finally chipped in. Sumbitch had just been standing there sipping his coffee watching Merle and Carol talk. The coffee was some _organic fairtrade Arabica_ shit that had been put in that freezer stash they'd found, by some damn fools who didn't know that you didn't freeze coffee. Regardless, it was really good shit, and the aroma from Daryl's coffee was getting right up Merle's nose.

"Oh good. Well, Merle, could you please bring it in when you're done? We saved you some breakfast."

_We_. _We_ saved you some breakfast. Not "_I_ saved you some breakfast."

Merle grunted in assent.

Carol picked up the platter of rabbit, nodded to Daryl and disappeared back into the prison.

Once she was gone Merle wiped off his hand, and the knife attached to his right arm; the armadillo was about done. He picked up the water bottle and took a long slug and waited.

Daryl took another sip of his coffee and said nothing for a bit.

Then… here we go.

"So you ain't made things right with Carol yet?"

"What you think I am, a pussy?"

There was a pause, and Daryl replied, very quietly, "No I think you're a damn fool."

"Say wha'?" If Daryl had not spoken so quietly, had instead used his usual heat and temper, Merle's response might have been different, more articulate, or more profane, but Daryl had caught him by surprise.

"Carol's a fine woman. Lord only knows what she sees in _you_. But any man that's lucky enough to have her take him into her bed should be grateful, and do whatever he can not to fuck it up."

"And just hand his balls over on a platter?"

"It ain't about that Merle and you know it. Remember Ed? Looks like she ain't about to make the same mistake twice. I don't know what you said to her to kick this off, and I don't wanna know. But I DO know it was something damn nasty, cos you're one damn nasty sumbitch. Hell if you weren't my own brother I probly woulda put you down myself by now."

"Tried to, ya mean." Merle's response lacked his usual bluster. Hark at baby bro, trying to give him, Merle, _relationship_ advice. Worst of it was, Merle was starting to listen.

"Just remember, if you ain't interested in fixin whatever your big mouth started, there's other single men round here for Carol to choose from, and I doubt there's a one of us that'd say no."

Daryl turned on his heel and walked away, adjusting the crossbow over his shoulder.

Well, second sib finally grew a pair. Couldn't rightly say he wasn't proud, sticking it to ole Merle like that, and trying to threaten him with cutting in. Didn't mean he was just gonna let baby bro walk off without a word.

"You had your chance little brother!" Merle hollered after him. "Took ya too long to get around to it, just like always. I don't gotta hand in my man-card just cos you're jealous that I'm getting some and you ain't!"

"You AIN'T getting some, asshole! Kinda the point." Daryl shouted back without turning his head.

"Got more'n you ever did!" Not his finest taunt.

Daryl kept walking, held up his coffee pointedly and flipped Merle the bird before turning the corner.

Damn. Merle really, **really** hated it when Daryl was right.

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Beth and Carol were pottering around in the main room when Merle took the armadillo in and dumped it on the table. His breakfast cereal was sitting laid out at a place set for one, but rather than sit down and be subject to the women fussing around, he picked up the bowl, balanced it in the curve of his elbow, and walked over to the window to spoon it in.

Outside, Rick, Carl and Michonne were throwing a frisbee around, which was an incongruous sight with the prison fences beyond them, and stray walkers beyond that. Carl seemed to be having fun. Merle didn't begrudge the kid his enjoyment; lord knows the kid was having to grow up damn fast. He was a pretty good shot for a thirteen year old. Needs must, when the devil drives. Lousy at frisbee, though.

Carol walked over to see what had caught his attention, and smiled a little at the sight. She and Merle each lounged on opposite edges of the bay window, watching the rare moment of normalcy outside.

Merle had finished up his cereal, and Carol stepped over to him to take the bowl, closer than she'd been in days. Bowl in one hand, she surprised him by reaching up to stroke his face with the other.

"I miss you, Merle," she said quietly.

Merle quickly slipped his arm around her waist, and that felt real good. "We can fix that anytime you're ready sugarplum."

"No Merle," Carol shook her head sadly, "anytime **you're** ready."

She slipped out of his grasp and walked back to the far side of the room to resume her kitchen tasks with Beth.

Merle probably didn't need to clang the security door quite that hard when he left.

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Carol had cooked up the armadillo with spinach, like shredded pork 'n' greens, and seasoned it with some kind of spice, Merle couldn't say what. It was real tasty, but Merle couldn't serve himself up as much as he would have liked, cos one armadillo didn't go far with that many people, even with thumper stew as the main dish. He enjoyed what he had, anyway, and was pleased to see a vegetable he actually liked back on the menu. He sneaked a look at Carol up at her end of the table – was this some kind of dig to remind him of what he was missing?

Carol was laughing at some comment Short Stack had made, and her face was alight with merriment. Been a while since he saw her like that. _Well whose damn fault was that?_ He tried to ignore the Daryl in his head, cos baby bro was sitting right next to him working his way determinedly through the stew and dumplings, and he really didn't need two Daryls going at it.

Merle looked back at the spinach on his plate and picked up his fork then put it down again. He tried to pick the fork up again but couldn't bring himself to it.

"Carol," he said, suddenly, too loud. Yeah, way too loud, cos now everyone was staring at him.

Well hell if he was gonna say anything now. "Pass the salt wouldja?"

Carol frowned slightly and pointed to the far end of the table with an open hand. "It's down there next to Daryl."

"Huh, musta missed it there."

Daryl reached over and picked up the salt, then thumped it down next to Merle with unnecessary force. To cover his ass Merle shook a little over his plate, as everyone went back to whatever the hell it was they were discussing. Merle forked up his spinach, enjoying it regardless. Nothing much troubled his appetite.

Under the cover of the group's chitchat, Daryl said to him, real quiet-like, "Stubborn motherfucker."

Merle had a mouthful of spinach so couldn't say anything back. He settled for kicking Daryl's leg under the table.

"Ow!" Daryl said indignantly, and elbowed him hard in the ribs. Luckily he'd already swallowed that mouthful. Merle dropped his fork, gearing up to flick Daryl on the ear.

"Merle! Daryl!" Hershel spoke to them in his best patriarch manner from across the table. "If you boys can't behave yourselves properly at the supper table like civilised human beings you can always eat out in the yard."

"Well he started it," Merle muttered.

"Did not," Daryl stuck up for himself, just as surly.

"Did too."

"Enough! I don't care who started it. Just behave yourselves, the pair of you." As if that was the final word on the subject, Hershel turned to Carol and in his usual kindly tone said, "Carol dear, would it be too much to hope for some dessert?"

"Sorry Hershel, I didn't make any afters tonight. It took a little while to figure out what to do with the armadillo."

"Well it was delicious. Thank you." Hershel pressed his handkerchief to clear the grease from his mouth as though it was a fine linen napkin.

"Yeah Mother Hen, it was real good; thanks." There, see, Merle could play nice. When he wanted to.

"Well thank you for catching it Merle. Team effort," Carol replied.

Merle smiled a little crookedly. _Team effort, huh_. Well shit, maybe there is no "I" in team, but there sure as hell was an "M" and an "E".

He sneaked another peek at Carol. She was wearing that same purple top she'd had on when this whole thing kicked off, when they'd first got together; the one that was a little lower in front than her usual shirts, and showed off her rack nicely. He grinned a little to himself. Carol had thought she'd been so sneaky, luring him in to that pantry with promises of extra dessert, then fluttering around teasing him with touches on the arm and looking up at him through her lashes with those pretty blue eyes.

Truth to tell, he'd known she'd been up to something the moment she'd leaned over the table to hand him some utensil, leaned over far enough that she was practically inviting him to look down her top. He'd obliged her, of course. And enjoyed the sneak peek, too. But he'd known right then and there that something was up, because Carol had never done anything like that before, not even accidentally. She'd seemed to be a fairly modest type of woman, even if her clothes now weren't as dreary as the ones she'd worn back at the quarry. Actually, he'd barely noticed her back then, apart from wanting to smack down that loudmouth husband of hers, just for being a loudmouth without the balls to follow it up by dancing with a man for a change.

And despite her best intentions, Carol hadn't been quite able to pull the thing off, and it had been left to good ole Merle to pin her against the pantry shelving and rev her up until she just couldn't help herself any longer, and had kissed him. In the usual manner between men and women, one thing had led to another. That had been one sweet night. There'd been a few more since then, not as many as he would have liked, and then he'd fucked it up by being his usual mean junkyard dog self.

Merle dropped his fork again, food was all done, and said pointedly to Hershel, in a voice smooth enough to be a little insulting, "May I be excused?"

"You may," Hershel replied, choosing to ignore Merle's sarcasm and take his comment at face value.

There was a screech as Daryl pushed back his chair as well, and the brothers disappeared off in different directions.

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Merle sat outside on a bench leaning back against the wall, bending his bad arm back and forth repeatedly. He'd had a sip from the hip flask of bourbon he carried, but that hadn't helped.

Farmer Joe came out the door, hopped nimbly down the steps and joined him at the bench, subsiding into a sitting position, crutches stacked neatly within grabbing distance. Merle knew better than to offer Hershel any liquor. Merle had been giving some thought as to how they could turn Hershel's crutches into some kind of weaponry, help him out some if he was ever cut off by walkers, but now didn't seem the time to bring it up.

"Arm bothering you?" That was Hershel's' opener.

"Hand. The one that isn't there."

"Hmm. It's the itching that gets me. When my toes itch, and I can't scratch them, it just about drives me to distraction."

Merle nodded. He knew the feeling. Right now it was pain he was suffering, but itching was definitely right up there on the bothersome scale.

"I find a good rub-down of the stump sometimes helps. Feels good, anyway. One of the women would probably massage that for you, if you asked them right," Hershel suggested.

Merle snorted. Whenever Beth looked at him right now it was with big hurt eyes. There was no way he was gonna ask Maggie. Mee-chonne would probably fix the problem permanently by taking the rest of his arm off at the shoulder with her sword. And as for Carol… well, don't even go there.

"You think? Case you haven't heard, I ain't exactly flavour of the month right now."

Hershel nodded sagely. "Seems like the solution to that lies in your own hands, Merle."

Merle said nothing, but sucked his teeth. He had no beef with the old man, and didn't want to start one now. Couldn't everyone just let him be?

Hershel continued, "Knowing their thoughts, he said to them, "Every kingdom divided against itself is laid waste, and no city or house divided against itself will stand." "

Merle sighed. Matthew 12:25. When even Hershal was weighing in on the subject, his back was against the wall. He wasn't about to speak to the old man like he had to the others. But he was getting a little tired of everyone sticking their oar in sideways. Best defence was always a good offense, and he never had any issue with giving offence.

"Listen Gramps, since you're so fond of quoting the Good Book, I got one for ya. Proverbs 17:28.*"

_*Even a fool who keeps silent is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is deemed intelligent__._

Hershel nodded his head a little, his tired eyes resigned. He rose and organised his crutches, then stared off into the distance for a moment. "Son, even the devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. If that's the way you feel, I'd rather you just told me to shut the fuck up."

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**To be continued…**

**One more chapter to go! I would be so delighted if you left a review. **


	7. DAY SEVEN

**Hey there y'all, here it is at last, the final chapter of Doghouse. Not much to say except that I hope I haven't made Merle too tame. He's struggling with change; but if he wants to stay with Team Grimes, (or more accurately, stay with Daryl, who wants to stay with TG), some change on his part is necessary.**

**Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own The Walking Dead because if I did MERLE WOULD STILL BE FUCKING ALIVE!**

**AND SO WOUD MILTY!**

**To AMC: "and the horse you rode in on." **

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**DAY SEVEN**

It was cold out in the yard and even Daryl had abandoned his usual Second Amendment rights for a long-sleeved jacket. Rick was handing out the daily duties, and had teamed Merle with the Junior Sheriff for walker duty again. Merle couldn't figure out why Rick kept partnering him up with Carl. He would've thought Officer Friendly would want to keep Carl away from Merle as much as possible, figuring he would be a bad influence. Maybe it was Merle's superior walker killing skills he wanted the kid to pick up, or maybe there was some other reason. Merle could think of several, but they were all contradictory of each other. Regardless, despite not knowing Rick very well yet, Merle knew he was up to something; he was never more up to something than when he didn't seem to be.

Merle didn't like Dudley Do-Right much, and couldn't help holding the whole missing-hand thing against him, but was starting to develop a grudging respect for him. Damned if he would admit it though. Hell Rick must have something for Daryl to be BFF with him; Daryl would never have followed that prick Shane like he did Rick. At least the man had sand.

Once Team Grimes dispersed to get on with their tasks, Merle hung back a little. Rick was busy re-tying his bootlace, and looked up, squinting into the pale sun a little, as Merle loomed over him.

"Was there something else Merle?"

Merle contemplated saying no and walking off, but curiosity overcame him. "How come you ain't said anything to me about Carol?"

"Carol? Why would I say anything about Carol?"

"Well hell pretty much everyone else here has. Mostly along the lines of 'man the fuck up'."

Rick stood up, and shielded his eyes, looking at Merle with a rumpled forehead. "It's none of my business Merle. You're a grown man, and I'm not your Aunt Abby. If you want to screw up the best thing you've had in probably ever, that's your choice." Rick looked over to the fence line. "Carl's waiting on you." Rick nodded and walked off to his own duties.

Well if that don't beat the Dutch.

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Merle was quietly contemplative while he and Carl took out the walkers along the fence line. Usually Merle liked to taunt them, something along the lines of, "Come on Gorgeous, come and get a taste of ole Merle here. STAB There ya go now! What, you want some too? Was that yer Momma? You're nearly as goodlookin as she was; howsa about a threesome?! There y'are! STAB Sweet, weren't it!"

But today he couldn't help thinking about what Rick had said. Damn these goddamn do-righters. They were turning him soft. Soft as mush. He'd be wearing white shirts and riding a bicycle next.

There was a gap in the stream of walkers so Carl and Merle made their way along the fence-line, heading for the next cluster, who seemingly hadn't noticed them yet.

Carl spoke up, swinging the piece of rebar in his hand back and forth as they walked along.

"So you haven't made it up with Carol yet?"

"Listen kid, what did I tell you about that being none of your beeswax?"

"Yeah, I know. I just hate to see Carol looking so sad. She's such a good person."

"Well it's up to her if she wants to make it up." Merle was carefully off-hand.

"But… didn't you… I mean." Carl broke off suddenly, clearly thinking the better of pursuing that line of inquiry, despite his puzzlement.

"What?" Merle was mildly curious to see where Short Stack was heading with this. He couldn't remember much of what he'd been like at Carl's age, apart from a seething mass of fight and hormones, and never able to tear his eyes off the front of Mary-Lou Pickett's blouse (girl had a _rack_ on her). But he knew it had to be real different for Carl; different folks and background, raised with different values, and then there was that whole end of the world thing going on as well. Sometimes it was hard to tell what way the kid was gonna jump.

"Nothing."

"Aw hell spit it out before you explode."

Carl re-arranged his hat a little, took a deep breath, made sure he was out of arms' length, and spoke up. "I was always taught, if you're the one at fault… Shouldn't you just apologise? Isn't that the manly thing to do?"

_The manly thing to do_. Hell no wonder Rick didn't feel the need to weigh in. Replica-Rick here was doing it for him. Carl was a chip off the old block alright. It was a sad day when Merle Dixon was being schooled in the masculine virtues by a fuckin thirteen year old.

"I ain't 'pologising. Man's got his pride."

Carl took a few quick strides further away from Merle and muttered, almost to himself, "Well that's kinda dumbass."

"Say what?! If a man don't got his pride, he don't got nothin." Just as well the kid was out of reach or Merle mighta clipped him one.

"I get that. I do. But… well, it seems to me if you have too much pride, then you "don't got nothing" either."

Merle narrowed his eyes. Where was the kid going with this? "How do you figure that?" He was genuinely curious.

Carl stopped and stood his ground, and when he answered he seemed to be developing his answer as he went, feeling his way along. "You want to be with Carol, and she wants to be with you, and all that needs to happen is for you to say sorry to her. But you won't, 'cause you're too proud, so you're not with her. So you've got nothing."

Merle said nothing for a moment, reining himself in. One part of him wanted to smack that smartmouth kid down real hard, backhand him straight across the chops and make him bleed for thinking he could talk to Merle Dixon like that. Another part couldn't help but admit the kid had an unassailable chain of logic going on. Outa the mouths of babes.

Merle's silence clearly didn't act as any kind of warning for Carl, because he continued, thinking aloud, "But if you just said, "Carol, sorry for being such a dumbass", she'd get what she wants, and you'd get what you want. It'd be a win-win scenario. Wouldn't it?"

Merle was starting to regret ever teaching the kid that expression.

"Kid it ain't that simple. Or that easy." Not if you were Merle fuckin Dixon, anyways.

"Yeah it is. If you want it to be." Carl encouraged him.

"No it ain't."

"Yeah it is."

"No it ain't".

Carl smiled a little under his hat at the schoolyard retorts they had going on all of a sudden.

"Yeah it is."

Merle was about to respond but instead what came out of his mouth was, "Hey watch it! Walker!" Carl had inadvertently moved a little too close to the fence, and in the course of talking with Merle had turned to face him, putting Carl's back to the fence. Merle jerked him away roughly and Carl tumbled to the ground. With one powerful slash Merle took off the decomposing arm that a walker had managed to get through a small hole in the fence to claw at Carl.

Carl's hat had fallen off and he quickly crawled after it along the ground to grab it, while Merle rammed his bayonet into the walker's head.

After that, by unspoken mutual agreement, their conversation focussed on mending the hole in the fence and taking out the rest of the walkers that had shambled over alerted by the fracas.

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Merle sat in the shaded corner of the yard waiting for lunch to be ready, sipping on some water, and wishing there was ginger beer. Hell, any beer, really. The day had heated up real fast, and putting down walkers was thirsty work.

Beth came out of the prison and looked around, clearly searching for someone. She nodded politely but distantly to Merle and then made her way down the steps to join Hershal at the bottom. Hershal was comfortably ensconced on the bottom step, picking over sunflower seeds in a bowl, an old straw hat covering his white locks.

"Daddy? Have you seen Maggie?" She dipped her hand into the bowl of cleaned seeds to grab a couple and Hershal smacked lightly at it.

"We won't have any crop next year, and no sunflower oil, if you eat all the seeds now." That had been one of Carol's ideas, to plant sunflowers for next year for the crop of seeds. As well as a food crop, they could make sunflower oil, and that had many uses besides just a cooking oil; making soap and ointments for starters. They had to begin making themselves self-sufficient. Merle imagined the outer field covered with a vast array of yellow-headed flowers, their faces turned up to the sun. Had to admit, it would look better than walkers.

"Sorry Daddy, "Beth said easily, with a cheeky smile, eating the seeds she had pilfered. "Maggie?"

"She and Daryl have gone out already." Merle knew Hershal didn't like Maggie going out on the back of the bike with Daryl, but even Hershal conceded that they got the supply and scouting runs done fast and efficiently, and despite having two people on the bike, it used less gas than any of the other vehicles.

"Did you tell her what I wanted her to pick up for me?"

"Oh... I'm sorry Junebug, I clean forgot. They'll have to get it next time."

"That's OK Daddy. It can wait."

_Yeah, looks like it'll have to, 'Junebug'_. Merle wondered idly what she wanted. Probably some girly shit like lipstick or friendship bracelets. Damn, two "sorry's" in two minutes. These people seemed to find apologising downright easy, as if they were saying nothing more charged than "pass the salt".

Maybe it came easier with practise.

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A goat. Daryl and Maggie had come back from the supply run with a fucking live nanny goat tied down over the gas tank. Merle had been thinking about how good it would taste made up into goat chilli, but apparently there were other plans for it.

At supper that night everyone was a little excited by the acquisition of their first piece of livestock. It was just about all they could talk about.

"I know she won't be much use yet, but we can fatten her up on the grass and once we find a billy-goat and get her in kid, then there'll be fresh milk every day." That was Maggie, typical farm girl, thinking about the practicalities. She and Beth were squeezed in elbow to elbow on the other side of the table, flanked by Rick at the top end and Hershal at the bottom. Opposite Hershal, and next to Merle, Daryl said little, focussing on his food like usual, but it seemed to Merle he had a goofy little smile lurking. On Merle's other side Carl was chowing down like there was no tomorrow, typical teenage boy, all hollow legs and bottomless pit that he called a stomach, but he was following the conversation closely.

"And then we could make cheese!" Beth said excitedly.

"And yoghurt would be nice too," Carol chipped in from the head of the table.

Merle didn't want to rain on their parade, partly because all of that fresh dairy food sounded real good compared with the powdered or vac-packed milk they'd been living off lately, but also because it was fun to see the women all cranked up and glowing about something for a change. But there was that whole "once we find a billy-goat" part to achieve yet.

"Ice-cream," Carl said around a mouthful of food.

"Hell yeah!" Daryl opened his mouth at the table for once for some other reason than to shovel in grub.

Even a misanthrope like ole Merle enjoyed the feeling of camaraderie that was prevalent that evening. He looked across at Beth, her eyes alight with pleasure, _such a pretty thang_, and then flicked a quick glance up the table at Carol, who bore a small but warm smile.

Well hell. Maybe sometime he could give that whole apology thing a try. Start with something small. He'd all but apologised to Michonne a few weeks back, hadn't come right out and said the word "sorry" but close enough, and it hadn't made his balls shrivel up and fall off. And he did owe Beth one, technically speaking, for being a jerkoff to her at the firing range. She didn't seem to have held a grudge, but she'd been even more wary around him than usual.

"Hey Goldilocks," he said, looking straight at Beth, diving right in, "guess I owe you an apology."

Beth had a mouthful of food (_good timing Merle_, he congratulated himself), and was too well-raised to say anything back with her mouth full, so settled for an inquiring, "Hmm?"

The others went quiet, and Rick looked at him real closely. Hershal serenely carried on eating.

"Yeah. Your shooting's comin' along just fine. I had no call to talk to you the way I did the other day. I was just in a snit about something and took it out on you."

Merle could _feel_ everyone trying to act normally.

That hadn't been too hard at all, actually. Still, not like it was about anything important. He didn't have much invested in it; no skin off his nose to put a smile back on the girl's face.

Beth had swallowed her food, and, despite being clearly disconcerted, replied politely, "Uh… that's all right Merle… We all have our bad days." She smiled a little, albeit uncertainly, but it was made up for by the way some of the warm glow remained in her eyes from the conversation about the damned goat.

Well that was damned forgiving of her. Seemed like forgiveness came as easy as apology, for some, anyways. Sure would be nice to see a similar glow on Carol's face.

Fuck. In for a dime, in for a dollar.

Before he could lose his nerve, which would be a fuckin unusual experience for Merle Dixon, he turned to face the head of the table.

"Carol," Merle said, his voice raspier and much deeper than usual. He paused a moment until he was sure of her attention. She looked his way inquiringly.

He steeled his gut, forced himself to it, and said, "I'm sorry."

There. It was out there. He waited for that old familiar stick-in-his-craw feeling to move up his gut and choke him; waited for rage to surge over him and poison to spill out, to make him want to break every bit of furniture in sight and then a few heads besides. Prepared himself to do his damnedest to rein it in.

Huh. Didn't happen.

Sure, his stomach muscles were taut, and there was a kind-of bad taste in his mouth, but it wasn't _too_ bad, just like he'd swallowed down a mug of coffee too far and got to the bitter grounds. He could deal with that.

The others were mostly rigid with shock, but Carol looked at him and replied mildly, "Alright Merle," and gave him a little nod. "Thank you," she added, like it was no big deal. But a little happy smile edged quickly onto her face, and when she looked down at her food she was regarding it with much more fondness than a plate of vegetables merited.

Merle swallowed hard. He'd put that look there, and with just a couple of words. He went back to eating his supper, as low-key as Carol was being, but every time he sneaked another look at her, she had that frickin _aura_ about her. And on the couple of occasions that she caught him looking at her, there was a glimmer in her eyes that threatened to burst right out into a shine.

"Any dessert?" Carl said matter-of-factly, pushing his empty plate away from him and placing his cutlery on it a little untidily.

"Why yes Carl, there is, plums and whipped cream," Carol replied. Merle wasn't sure why he thought Carol had actually had no plans for dessert, and had decided on the spur of the moment to serve one up.

"Yumm!" Carl's thoughts echoed Merle's own. Plums, huh?

"Well don't get too excited Carl, it's only tinned cream but it's better than nothing," Carol replied with an indulgent smile.

"Much better than nothing," Rick answered. "I don't know how you do it Carol, but you certainly manage to keep us all well fed. When I remember how it was last winter… I'm just grateful for the good luck we've had lately."

There were murmurs of assent around the table.

Fuck, any minute now someone was gonna start singing "We Are the World." Merle guessed he could tolerate it for now. Since there were plums on the horizon.

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In the general hubbub after supper, as people stacked plates and sorted cutlery and the like, Carol drew Merle a little aside.

"Think you could help me out in the pantry later?"

"Guess I could do that."

"Nothing better to do, huh?" Carol lightly tickled the palm of Merle's hand with a couple of fingers.

"That's right."

"Better than listening to Daryl's bitching, right?"

"Marginally, yeah."

Carol raised her eyebrows at that, but knew he was teasing her. She ran a finger up the inside of his arm. The feeling went straight to his groin and he had to hold back from crowding her in front of everyone.

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Merle got to the pantry before Carol did and paced about impatiently. He'd considered pulling out the blankets and pillow that Carol had left there from their previous trysts and setting them up, but knew from experience that no matter how much of a sure thing a woman was, they didn't like it to be taken for granted that they were gonna screw ya. 'Sides, Carol would probably want to _talk _and shit, before they could get down to it.

He heard her closing and locking the outer door, then her light footsteps across the floor. He'd been planning on jumping her the moment she walked in, but instead when she opened the pantry door, smiled at him and stepped inside, he found himself leaning casually against the far wall of the pantry, displaying his physique to best advantage.

"Hey you," she said softly, and turned the lock on the door.

"Hey yerself." Well that was downright erudite. Tough. Let her do some of the work for a change.

Carol rested her back against the pantry door.

"Well you certainly managed to surprise me, Merle Dixon. I was beginning to think you would never apologise."

Merle raised a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, and replied gracelessly, "Guess the lack of squeeze was getting to me."

Apart from raising one eyebrow, Carol ignored that, as well she might, and continued, "Don't think I have no inkling of how hard that was for you. And don't think that I'm intent on making this harder for you," Merle wished she'd stop talking about things being _hard, _"but you knowthat the apology is only half of the equation."

Merle tilted his head slightly and looked at her a little coldly. How was she going to string him along now? "What the fuck you talking about woman?"

Carol moved over to stand closer to him. Normally he'd be happy with that, taking it for his cue, but having placed himself on the far side of the room so that she'd have to come to him, he was now feeling a little blocked in. He reached out and pulled her over so that she had one shoulder to the wall, like him, facing each other, and then let go of her. His eyes roamed her body. He was keen to get on with it, but it seemed like there was a little something else going on first, and damned if he wasn't feeling a mite…uncomfortable. Couldn't understand why he hadn't just jumped her.

"I'm talking about respect, Merle. Or perhaps more accurately, disrespect."

Oh hell. His mind jumped back to the argument that had started off this whole contretemps, and what he had said to her. And especially, what she had said to him, before stalking off. He knew that now, more than anything, was make or break time. He considered his words carefully; no point saying the wrong thing and fucking it up now, after screwing himself up to the sticking point of having made the apology. But this was Carol, and nothing less than honesty would do, either.

"I don't _mean_ to disrespect you Carol."

She nodded encouragingly; his tone made it clear there was more to come.

"But you know what I am. Can't guarantee I'll never do it again." That was as open as he'd been with a woman in a long, long time.

Now her nod was understanding. But she wasn't running for the hills, and that was a good sign.

Carol moved in closer, pressed her soft body against his, _damn she smelled good_, and replied, "Fair enough."

With a little smile she ran her hand up his arm. He quickly wrapped it around her waist, and moved hard up against her. Her hand continued up to his face, and she gently stroked the back of her fingers against his stubbled cheek. There was a mischievous light in her eyes, and the way she moved against him, it was clear she'd been missing the squeeze too.

Carol continued, "Now shut the fuck up and kiss me."

Merle obliged.

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**THE END**

**Hope you all enjoyed coming along for the ride with me. **

**Don't worry, I haven't abandoned Plum Crisp. Doghouse just took over a bit for a while. **

**Do feel free to leave a review.**


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